


The Shape of Desire

by eratospen



Series: Of Desire [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratospen/pseuds/eratospen
Summary: Sequel to The Vagaries of Desire. Time has passed, and Anders is quite a bit bigger. With Hawke away for the past few months, hopefully he hasn't finally outdone himself.Warning: This is a Dragon Age male weight gain / belly kink story. If that doesn't sound like your thing...it probably isn't.





	The Shape of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of people requested a follow-up to The Vagaries of Desire, with an even bigger Anders. Since I love the idea of a very, **very** soft Anders, I was all for it.
> 
> Be aware that Anders is quite large in this, so if that isn't your cup of tea, you might want to leave things at the first fic.
> 
> Oh, and Isabela gets in on the kinky fun now and again, because it turns out she's as much of an FA as Hawke. I don't expect her to show up much outside of Chapter One, however. The key action will be m/m.

There was a whistle from the doorway. “Maker, would you look at that,” Isabela purred. From the light scuffing sounds, she was settling in and crossing her arms—no doubt getting comfortable to enjoy the view. “I swear I’ve seen ships carrying less cargo than you.”

Anders shook his head, not bothering to straighten. He had his hands full restocking the lower infirmary shelves, bottles of elfroot clinking merrily together. Besides, after all this time as Hawke’s lover, it took a lot more than some gentle ribbing about the heft of his backside to get him flustered.

Well. When it wasn’t Hawke himself doing the teasing, that was.

“I’d say your arse looked like two nugs rooting about for mushrooms,” she continued, “but I’ve never seen a nug get _that_ big. Tell me, Anders.” There was a click of heels against rotting floorboards as she crossed the infirmary, no doubt swaying her own curvy hips. “Does Hawke sometimes get lost in those Anderfels?”

He ignored the playful swat on his rump, placing the last of the potions and swinging the cupboard shut. Before he could straighten, however, Isabela grabbed two handfuls of his (admittedly, very wide) arse and squeezed the globes together. “It’d be an easy thing to lose your way in a valley that deep.”

“Oh, stop,” Anders said with a laugh. He lightly bumped back, using his hips to force the pirate to take a graceful hop to the side. His robe had pulled tight over his arse and hips thanks to bending so long over his task, and Anders took a moment to tug everything back into place, smoothing his hands over their exaggerated shape. “Last time I let you anywhere _near_ my ‘valley’, you went half-mast on me.”

Isabela just grinned, moving easily back into his space. He knew not to take the proximity seriously: she may have been a very occasional guest star in his and Hawke’s rather spectacular love life, but it was obvious from the casual tilt of her chin that she wasn’t looking for an evening’s fun. That was well enough. Outside of some playful grabbing and mockery and plenty of food play, he never let things get far without Hawke around to enjoy the show. His gut was fair game, but his dick and heart belonged to the warrior. “It isn’t my fault no strap-on’s been made long enough to plow to the depths of mountains that large,” she said. She gave his arse another sharp tap as he slipped past her. “You’ve gotten so fat it’s a wonder I could push your cheeks wide enough to try.”

“And yet,” Anders said, “Hawke more than manages every day.” He headed deeper into the clinic, arms full with a tray of empty bottles, hips swaying in what was _not_ yet a waddle thank-you-very-much, thighs rubbing together beneath the snug fit of his robe. He’d long ago made a point of widening the aisles between various desks and patient tables so his hips no longer clipped into every piece of furniture he past…and yet thanks to a dedicated two-month binge, he now had to suck in his tummy and turn to the side as he moved between the old bed (used for storage now that he lived in the mansion above) and his writing desk.

Old wood scraped against stone, the desk pushed back by meaty thighs no matter _how_ hard he tightened his muscles. Even worse, the bedframe was pinching into the bottom swell of his rear, briefly trapping him between the two pieces.

He gave a little hitch of his hips, up on his toes to keep the widest part of him from catching, but it was no good: he met perhaps inevitable resistance.

“Knickerweasles,” Anders sighed, letting out his held breath. His belly rolled forward, relaxed, and plopped against the desk as he dropped down from the balls of his feet. So much for that plan. “I thought I’d manage to make it another month before having to rearrange the furniture again.”

Isabela just cackled, rounding one of the posts to take in the view. “With the way you’ve been piling on weight the past eight weeks?” she said, eyeing him. She seemed especially delighted with the way the soft bottom swell of his belly spread across the desk with each breath. “Not likely. How many pounds did you manage to pack on since Hawke left?”

“I haven’t kept count,” Anders lied. He started to squeeze through the narrow opening, using his weight to push the desk back another few inches—then stopped, frowning, when it wouldn’t budge. “It’s never been about the numbers with us anyway,” he added, shifting his hips and pushing harder; no luck. “You know that. Hawke’s always been more about what he can see and grab and— And _void_ , I think the table’s caught on something.”

“Other than a whale of a man?” she teased before waving off his sour look. “It’s up against a whole mess of crates over here. You’re not going to be able to move it any farther back without rearranging the whole set-up.”

“Really?” He gave the table another, harder, push, just to see, but Isabela was right: it refused to budge. Anders frowned and glanced over his shoulder toward the foot of the bed…but of course _that_ was already shoved back as far as it would go, nestled against the stone wall.

He glanced down past the tray of empty bottles he was holding, taking in soft mounds of his tits, the tight grey-green material of his robe clinging tight enough to outline the nipples. It stretched over his belly as well, lovingly cupping the upper roll before flowing over the huge mound of the lower, which pooled across the scarred old wood every time he so much as breathed.

It was astonishing, still, sometimes, to be confronted with evidence of just how fat he’d let himself become. The robe pulled taut when he took his next breath, the shadow of his belly button visible: all of him propped up and exposed as if being presented for casual perusal. One enormously fat mage wriggling in a narrow space that would have easily let anyone else pass, every part of him jiggling as he jerked and twisted.

_This_ , Anders scolded, setting down the tray and placing his hands on either side of his belly, sucking in as he tried to get the leverage he needed to squeeze out. _This is what you did to us, Justice_.

But of course, even though Justice had started them down this path—encouraging Anders to eat and eat and _eat_ until he’d stuffed himself round-bellied and moaning night after night, rubbing fitfully at straining flesh—it was ultimately Hawke’s appreciation that had made Anders want to take it farther.

And then a little farther.

And then, of course, farther still, until it was a game to see just how wild he could drive his lover with each gain, surprising him after long trips with inches of new flesh to kiss and bite and admire.

It was possible that during this latest long journey, Anders had finally taken things too far. “I feel,” he said, still squirming and beginning to pant a little from his exertions, “like a butterfly stuck to a pinboard.” He let out a breath again on a sharp exhale, staring down at the big swell of his stomach. It was so huge-looking from this angle, soft fat pushed up by the table, that it was almost shocking. “Make that a hunger demon trapped in a larder,” he decided with a wry half-laugh. He gave his stomach a rough pat, watching the way it wobbled over its wooden shelf. “Or a pig between the bars of its cage.”

Isabela was watching him with avid interest. “Are you truly stuck?” she asked. “Or is this show for my benefit? Because _oh_ am I benefitting.” She offered a quick, saucy wink.

“This isn’t far from what I had planned for Hawke later,” Anders admitted, taking handfuls of his belly and squeezing the apron of fat between his fingers. Even with the rough-spun robe, it felt like ever-rising dough. “But I really, truly am _stuck_.”

“Andraste’s tits, Anders.” She laughed and moved around the heavy crates, swinging a thigh up onto the blocked desk. He had to smirk as he watched the way her own bare skin jiggled with the movement. Isabela’s vanity was almost as strong as his used to be, but spending so much time trying to help Anders fatten himself up for his lover nearly always left her overflowing her corset and cursing his name. It looked like the past eight weeks (on top of the time before that and the time before that) had added a kiss of a second chin beneath the first, some meatiness to those bare arms and legs, a little pot trying to push out the cinch of her corset and—of course—breasts very nearly tumbling out the top as she crawled across the table toward where Anders was trapped.

She jiggled and wobbled and swayed in a thoroughly distracting way, and Anders couldn’t quite bite back his grin as he relaxed back enough to watch her. Only _occasional guest star_ in his love life or not…it certainly was fun not to be the only one slowly growing out of every damn chair in the place. Considering her hourglass shape, anyone coming in from behind was _sure_ to be getting a big full-mooned view.

“What are you smiling about?” Isabela purred as she reached him. She rose up onto her knees, hands already smoothing across the high dome of his belly. When she lifted it and let it crash back against the table, the _both_ of them jiggled uncontrollably. Her proud little pot rubbed against his much fatter belly. “Maker, but we’ve stuffed you up into a right druffalo. I’ve never seen anyone as big as you. We could push you on your side and roll you down the street if we had to get anywhere fast.”

“Hello kettle,” Anders sing-songed, digging a finger into the diamond of skin visible between one of the straining bottom weaves of her corset. “My name’s pot.”

Isabela swatted his hand away with a scowl. “You _have_ gone to pot,” she said, turning the teasing back around on him, the way she liked it. “Massive enough that you can’t even lumber around your own infirmary without getting stuck. How many hundreds of pounds have you put on since coming to Kirkwall? How many times have you doubled your size?” She squeezed his belly just shy of too tight, molding the flesh like clay. The way Isabela lifted his (heavy) gut to rest against her own lush thighs let him wedge through another solid inch or so, his ass dragging against the footboard. “Your double chin’s threatening to move into a triple, you know. What do you think Hawke would say to that? What do you think he’ll do when he comes home after trekking back and forth along the coast for almost two months to find that—greedy little piggy you are—you’ve eaten his larders bare? That you’ve just gotten _fatter_ since he’s been gone, blowing up bigger and bigger like this bottomless pit of a gut has been cursed?”

Anders shivered. Even though he could tell neither of them were angling for sex (he wanted Hawke more than he wanted his next breath, and Isabela just liked to play sometimes), the words made something deviant inside him spark to life. He was getting hard at the way she was man-handling his pillowy body. He was getting harder at the thought of how he’d eaten himself so big he got _stuck_. Trapped. Helpless and quivering in place, pinned by his belly and arse and unbridled gluttony.

_Imagine_ , a part of him whispered, piggybacking off of Isabela’s practiced teasing. _Imagine if the Warden could see you now. You used to be so slender; whippet-thin, with trim hips and a line of ribs visible with each indrawn breath. Now…_

He relaxed back, deliberately filling his lungs with air, letting his belly inflate forward into a harder ball—almost as big and round as when he’d more than eaten his fill—and smiled at Isabela’s hum of pleasure. It was enough to push her back a little, _Maker_. “I’m always getting fatter,” he said, fluttering his lashes playfully. “But it’s never been like _this_ before. The way I’ve been stuffing myself night and day the last two months, why…”

Anders lowered his voice and ducked his head, as if sheepish. _Ashamed_. Even as his whole body came alight. “I think…I think I may have gained close to fifty pounds, just since Hawke left,” he murmured. “And Andraste help me, but it _all_ went right here.”

He dropped his hands down to nearly cover hers, fingers digging into the pliant softness of his belly. It _was_ noticeably bigger, the overhang when he wasn’t full massive and striped with pink lines and nearly large enough to fully cover his privates. He only had a couple more weeks until Hawke was expected back, and he was determined to keep stuffing himself to the brink until that _almost_ became a _certainty_. He wanted Hawke to come back to a lover so fat he was nothing but a pillowy mass sprawled out in welcome: hands cupping his tits, belly spilling between spread thighs, hiding the erection that was waiting for him.

“It all went to my big, fat belly,” Anders breathed, and the light in Isabela’s eyes blended with the vision in his own head of Hawke seeing him like that, Hawke getting his hands on all that soft _soft_ flesh had him shifting his hips back and forth, increasingly turned on. “Maker, but I’m so big. I can’t fit anywhere anymore. It’s a squeeze to sit in any chairs, and my belly’s starting to get in the way when I walk. Pretty sure I really will be waddling everywhere I go— _if_ I can even make up the Darktown steps anymore…”

Isabela gave his gut a slap. “You already waddle, Anders,” she said, cackling at his glare. “And if you’re not careful, you’re really not going to fit _anywhere._ Not up those Darktown steps, not through the hidden entrance to Hawke’s home, not in your own infirmary. You’ll have to sprawl in bed all day, growing bigger and bigger as the rest of us take pity on you and feed you up right.”

He gave a jerk of his hips, startled when the strength of it finally wedged the table back another half-inch. Barely enough to make Isabela do more than brace against his gut to keep from falling, but enough so he could squeeze free…if he wanted.

_Or_ , Anders thought, wetting his bottom lip. _Isabela could fetch another two or three of Leandra’s fine baskets of baked goods and help wedge me in here for real._

How would that feel? To have his friend stuffing pastries into his mouth, playfully scolding him for being such a glutton as his gut expanded out and out, blowing up slowly like a balloon—drawing his robe tight as a second skin until the seams creaked in warning and his impossibly round belly spread wider and wider across the edge of the table, pushing Isabela back. Truly making him _stuck_ until the whole thing began to digest, pouring more pounds onto those waiting for Hawke to come home and discover and admire, bringing him one step closer to his perverted little goal.

Making him that much fatter for Hawke’s return.

He looked up, flushed and squirming at the thought, and met Isabela’s eyes. A single black brow arched. “Let me guess,” she purred, rubbing softly against the delicate wobble of his belly. “You’re _hungry_ and want me to fetch you something to nibble?”

“Well,” Anders said, voice husky. Nearly raw from want. “I am a growing mage, after all.”


End file.
